


SHIELD Has Procedures for Everything (In Other Words, RTFM)

by Lywinis



Series: One Shots -- Capsicoul [25]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Don't scar the children, Getting Together, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil is hit in the face with a strange alien spore, he locks himself in his office and orders Peter to radio SHIELD with a specific code. Peter complies.</p><p>Steve, on his way home from an investigation in Latveria, receives a call that Phil needs his help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SHIELD Has Procedures for Everything (In Other Words, RTFM)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justicemuffins](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=justicemuffins).



“Call SHIELD. Tell them it’s an 89-56.” Coulson slammed the office door and locked it, leaving Peter and the others outside. Peter hadn’t liked the look on Phil’s face, red and flushed, and he turned to the others.

“Better do as he says,” Peter said with a shrug. “He was the only one hit in the face with those weird spores. Maybe he knows they’re poisonous.”

“If that was the case, he might need an antidote.” Ava pulled out her communicator and tossed it to Peter as she took off down the hall. “I’m gonna head to the nurse’s office and see if there’s first aid.”

“Right.” Luke, Sam and Danny headed off to clean up, and Peter stepped into the janitor’s closet, pulling off his mask to breathe after locking the door.

“Fury.” The communicator shimmered to life. “I thought this was Tiger’s line, Spider-Man.”

“Well, mine was ruptured in combat,” Peter said, wiping at his sooty face. “Giant wasps really aren’t my forte.”

“Ah,” Fury looked pensive. “What’s this about? I’m expecting a briefing from Agent Coulson. Where is he?”

“He asked us to call you, sir. He said it was a…an…” Peter struggled to remember the blurted code. “An 89-56.”

“He did?” Fury said. “Jesus. All right, kid. I need you to keep an eye on his door, and his windows. Under no circumstances are you to follow orders from him. Until this is resolved, I am in command here.”

“Y-yes sir,” Peter said, the serious tone of Fury’s voice draining the snark from him. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“He’s gonna be fine if you follow orders. Set up a guard to watch the doors and windows. I’ll be there shortly.”

The school had been evacuated, and SHIELD showing up wouldn’t be an issue. Peter signed off the communicator, tucking it into a hidden pocket in his suit so he could pull his mask back on.

Ava had gotten back, and she lifted her hand to knock on the Principal’s door.

“Wait!” Peter called. “Fury’s got orders for us. We’re supposed to keep watch over the doors and windows. And we _aren’t_ to open the doors for him. Fury’s taken command.”

“Really?” Ava asked. “Oh man, this is serious.”

Sam, Luke and Danny got back, changed from their costumes.

“Danny, Luke, can you keep an eye on the doors?” Peter turned to Ava. “We should hit the roof on the other side of the street, watch the windows. Whatever you do, don’t let him out. SHIELD’s coming to get him.”

“Do as he says,” Coulson called from inside the office. “Good call, Spider-Man.”

“Now I know something’s wrong,” Sam said, jogging down the hallway to meet SHIELD and lead them in. Just to be safe, Peter webbed the door shut.

* * *

Steve pulled back his cowl and breathed out a sigh. Ten days patrolling Latveria’s borders and they still hadn’t determined whether it was Doom’s missile or not. They’d finally called it quits when the snowstorm had started. He frowned, leaning against the wall of the Quin, the bottle of water pressed to the back of his neck helping him relax.

“Long day?” called Quartermain from the pilot’s seat.

“Long everything,” Steve called back, giving Clay a wave. “I’m just glad to be getting back to the states.”

“I hear you.” Clay said, throttling up and out of the blowing snowstorm. “Guess we pack it in and wait for Doom’s next move?”

“That’s about the long and short of it,” Steve said. He settled in the co-pilot’s chair, slugging back half the bottle of water. “He’ll screw up, and then I’ll be on him like a cheap suit.”

“Works for me,” Clay said. He turned them toward home, the snow finally clearing as the Quin banked up and out of the clouds. “Though how can you not love the climate?”

“Seventy years of it,” Steve said, chuckling. “I like being able to feel my toes.”

Clay’s laughter was cut short by Fury’s private comm signal.

“Captain.”

“Director Fury.” Steve cocked a brow. “What can I do for you?”

“We have a bit of a delicate situation,” he said, flicking his eye at Clay. “I’d like to request your presence on the Helicarrier as soon as you can get here.”

“Sure,” Steve said, his interest (and suspicions) piqued. “What’s the trouble?”

“I can’t discuss it on an open comm channel,” Fury said. “Just let me know when you get in.”

“Will do,” Steve said. “Captain America, out.”

* * *

Steve was not expecting to see Phil Coulson in a holding cell. Fury stood beside him, the glass of the cell opaque on all the sides but the one they were standing on. His jaw jumped, and he turned to Fury.

“And you found him like this?” he asked.

“He was handcuffed to the radiator in his office, yelling at Power Man and Iron Fist to uncuff him.” Fury watched Phil toss and turn on the mattress, his expression one of tight control. “It’s a delicate situation, like I said.”

“Maybe you should explain it to me.”

“I’m actually forced to, by rules of procedure. Seventy-two hours ago, Agent Coulson was sprayed in the face by spores of an unknown, suspected alien, origin.” Fury nodded at the holding tank. “Seventy hours ago, SHIELD retrieved him from his office and took him into protective custody.”

“Is he all right?” Steve asked, his heart pounding. The gravity of Fury’s voice was unnerving.

“He’s exhibiting signs of what we call an 89-56,” Fury said. “Back in the day, AIM and HYDRA explored the biological warfare side of things, including uncontrollable pheromone recipes that leave an agent incapacitated in various ways. Fear, anger, lust. All of them were used, and we have procedures in place to countermand the toxins.”

Steve watched Phil swipe at his face, twitching.

“High levels of physical activity will run the pheromones out of his system, exhausting him and allowing him to sleep it off in intervals.”

“All physical activity?” Steve asked.

“Look at him, Rogers,” Nick said, his expression unamused. “Do you really think he could run laps right now? He can barely stand.”

Steve’s jaw tightened as Phil pulled the blanket over himself.

Fury dimmed the window, turning to Steve.

“This isn’t HYDRA or AIM. This is something else entirely. But what we do know is that it’s getting worse. Coulson’s body temperature is rising, and he’s in a considerable amount of distress. Nothing but physical touch seems to soothe it, and he’s refusing standard treatment, not wanting anyone to be put out.” Fury shook his head at the now-opaque window.

“Standard treatment being…?”

“Someone goes in there, a consenting adult, and Phil has sex until he passes out.” Nick raised his brow. “Since the standard care agents who were on duty were declined, I was forced to call you in.”

Steve stared at Nick, incredulous. Nick shook his head.

“This is one of those things that sounds stupid, even contrived on paper, but Agent Coulson is hurting badly. He needs someone to put him through his paces, and we have forms for this, including consent forms. On his preferred partner list, there was only one name. Yours.”

“Preferred Partner?” Steve asked, feeling his heartbeat start to jackhammer in his chest. “As in—“

“I think the choice was facetious, myself,” Nick said. “He hasn’t updated the file since 1993. The preferred partner list is also worked out ahead of time, between two consenting adults who agree to help each other out in these situations. He’s never needed to. He’s a stellar agent, and usually avoids these things. However, because he was backing up newer supers, one of them was in trouble, and Phil threw himself in the path of the spores.”

Steve could have sworn he heard “like an idiot” in Fury’s tone.

“Now, however, I’m not gonna make you go in there if you’re uncomfortable. Your consent is taken into consideration,” Nick said. “This is something that needs to be done of your own free will. But this is a serious thing. Phil has to work it out of his system somehow. It’s not working when he’s by himself. He needs the help. Even then, Phil’s hurting, and I hate seeing my best…my _friend_ in pain.”

Steve swallowed, looking at the darkened glass. It felt like the clock ticked down slower, as he weighed his options. On the one hand, if he didn’t go in there, Phil could get sicker. On the other, if he went in there, he might not be able to keep it strictly professional. He’d been working on some things for a while, and how he felt about the principal of Midtown High was one of them.

Not that he’d been distracted. He swallowed, then looked at Fury.

“Let me change out of my suit,” he said. “I’m going to need some things.”

“Already provided,” Nick said. “Thank you.”

“Hey, he requested I be there,” Steve said. “It’s the least I can do.”

He hoped the stout words hid the shaking in his fingers.

* * *

Steve took a deep breath and entered the little cube. Fury had promised him privacy, and the walls were opaque. He turned around, closing the door behind him. The pneumatic lock hissed with a finality that made his heart start a double-time cadence that only sped when his ears picked up the sounds of Phil’s pained breathing.

“Phil?” Steve asked, his voice gentle. “How you feeling?”

The sharp scent hit his nose at almost the same time as Phil flopped over, giving a cough.

“Like it’s pizza day,” Phil admitted. “Hot.”

Steve sniffed, his nostrils flaring. He knew that scent. He’d given it off himself. This was like the ramping up of his own hormones back in the forties. He remembered it, his eyes glazing slightly. It had been cold in the tent, the mud squishing around his boots as he’d huddled on his camp chair, furiously working his hand over his cock, over and over again. It hadn’t helped some days, he’d been too keyed up, too aggressive.

He’d had to sneak off to the woods during his time with the commandos. It had been like accelerated puberty, the sad, sick feeling of shame welling in his stomach as he spent himself to a shivering mess. Bucky had never known, and Steve had kept it that way. None of them had known. But he knew, looking at Phil, that this was happening because something had triggered the hormones.

Phil was going through something he’d been through before.

“I’m here to help,” Steve said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out, stroking Phil’s face. Phil groaned, turning into his fingers like a cat. He sucked in a breath. Phil opened his eyes, his pupils dilated to almost black. His pulse was up, jittering at his neck.

“You’re a hallucination,” Phil moaned, biting his lip. The blanket was tugged down, and Steve could see only bare skin, flushed as Phil squirmed. He had to be in a lot of pain. “Hand’s not working anymore. Damn 89-56…”

“I’m not a hallucination, Phil.” Steve pressed a hand to Phil’s head. He was burning up. “Fury asked me to come. I was the only one on your list…”

“He wouldn’t. He knows how much I respect you,” he said, turning his head so that he could rub his cheek against Steve’s fingers. His breathing was shallow and rapid. “He wouldn’t.”

“He did. I’m really here. I want to help.” Steve trailed his fingers down Phil’s fevered skin. Phil let out a soft noise. Steve’s whole body tensed.

“That’s what a hallucination would say,” Phil murmured, falling back, exhausted. “I’m so keyed up I’m imagining you here. That’s terrible.”

Steve hushed him, getting him a drink of water. Phil drained the bottle in a few long swallows, curling against Steve as if every touch was soothing him. Steve reached out, trailing his hand along strong biceps. He’d never seen Phil out of the suit, even in the tac suit. Phil had been careful.

Though he remembered seeing him in his colors. What a rest of the week that had been, the mental image haunting him. It was a good thought, and Steve leaned in, pressing gentle lips to Phil’s.

“Steve,” Phil whined. He’d never used his real name before, and Steve felt a shiver rush through him. He’d gotten another whiff of that scent, and his whole body keyed to it, his serum kicking the reaction into overdrive.

Steve helped Phil sit up, and the agent draped over him, his hands pressing at the plain tee Steve wore. Steve shivered. Even delirious with pollen, Phil knew what he was doing. He bit his lip, then kissed Phil’s bare shoulder.

“You asked for me,” Steve whispered. “I’m gonna try and make it good.”

“You being here would make it good,” Phil mumbled. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Steve said, kissing Phil’s neck, and Phil leaned into him. “I want to be here. Let me be here.”

“Okay…” Phil said, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I’m real sure. And I won’t even ask to make breakfast in the morning. Let me take care of you.”

Phil nodded, sluggish, and Steve pressed his lips to Phil’s again, the agent leaning into him, their tongues tangling lazily as Steve rubbed his hands up and down Phil’s sides. Phil was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. With his complaint of the heat, it made sense. Steve caressed his stomach, and the solid muscle jumped under his hands.

He pressed Phil to the bed, trailing down his stomach. The fevered skin was warm to the touch, and Phil’s fingers went to his hair, the agent arching into his hands. Steve had never been with someone so responsive, his touches reciprocated in kind as Phil rocked against the empty air.

Steve mouthed against his stomach, and Phil whined, tossing his head back. His lips passed over twisted scar tissue, and Phil bucked, sensitive as Steve mouthed at the old wound.

“God, feels so good. So hot…”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Steve mumbled, working Phil’s boxers down. He had to be in a lot of pain, considering, and he hissed when Steve breathed a line of warm air down his shaft.

“ _Yes_ ,” Phil slurred, his voice cracking. Steve’s brows knit in concentration as he leaned forward, trailing his lips along Phil. The noise Phil made was indescribable, the choked cry making Steve’s fingers dig into his hips.

“Feel good?” he asked, his voice rough.

“God, _please_ ,” Phil whined, his hips rocking upward. Steve bent back to his task, sinking his teeth gently into the meat of Phil’s thigh. He marked him before he went back to his task, pleased to see the attention had Phil hard and leaking against his stomach.

“Feels good,” Phil said, his hands in Steve’s hair. He’d jumped when Steve had nipped him, but he’d rallied, responding as Steve nibbled and sucked, gently tasting Phil’s skin. Steve smiled up at Phil, then swallowed him down, making Phil buck.

Steve groaned, the hint of salt enough to make him rock his own hips against the bed. He swirled his tongue along Phil’s crown, playing with the vein beneath, making Phil rake his nails against Steve’s scalp. Steve hummed, bobbing his head, and soon Phil’s hips were rocking in cadence with his movements, Phil’s knees up and his legs wrapped around his shoulders.

When Phil came, he cried out, spurting hot against Steve’s tongue. It was a rush, and Steve snorted, trying to contain it. He licked Phil clean, and the other man sagged, shivering.

“Better,” he whispered, and shivered against the blankets. Steve cleaned him up a little bit, tucked him back in his boxers, and curled up against him. Phil nosed into his neck, shaking.

“Drink some more water,” Steve said, tipping the bottle gently to his lips. Phil took little swallows, his eyelids heavy. Steve crooned a little to him. When Phil finally fell asleep, it was tucked against Steve, who was curled around him in SHIELD issue sweats.

* * *

Steve got two hours of watching over Phil’s restless dreams before the sharp scent of pheromones returned.

“Hot,” Phil mumbled, squirming softly against Steve. “You feel good.”

Steve rumbled a low chuckle. “Glad I do. You need something else?”

“Yeah,” Phil said. His eyes were going glassy again, and Steve kissed him soft and slow. “How long do I hallucinate?”

“Until it’s over,” Steve whispered against his lips. “I promised I’d stay.”

“Good.” Phil hummed, leaning in to kiss Steve again.

* * *

Twenty-eight hours later, Phil Coulson slept soundly. The immediate danger was over, and Steve drank down what felt like a gallon of Gatorade after cleaning them both up. Phil protested, reaching for him in his sleep, and Steve obliged after changing into fresh clothes, Phil’s own sweats clean as well.

He curled around Phil’s body, glad the shakes were gone at last. Phil sighed softly, his breathing deep and even as Steve held him.

It was nice. Steve didn’t even consider the consequences of dropping off to sleep. It felt like the most natural thing in the entire world to him, and he drifted off, Phil pressed to his chest and the blankets tucked around them.

When he woke, however, the cell was empty. Phil was gone.

Steve sagged against the blankets for a moment, then rose slowly to collect his things.

* * *

Principal Coulson had taken a sick day.

Peter didn’t even know him that well. Heck, after that fiasco with Aunt May, he didn’t even really _like_ the guy. But still, the sick day was unprecedented, and he and Ava traded worried glances as they passed by the substitute principal, a woman by the name of Ms. Marks.

(Peter had seen her around. She functioned almost like Coulson’s assistant, but who could probably kill him with a stapler.)

As soon as seventh period was over, he bolted from the door, heading to the closest alley to change. He zipped up to the Helicarrier, landing lightly on the runway and trying to act like he had business there other than to bug the crap out of Coulson.

Ever since the 89-56, he hadn’t seen Coulson, and while he didn’t like him, it didn’t mean that Coulson didn’t have his place. Peter had come to almost rely on seeing his face in the halls every weekday. It was a comfort thing, he supposed.

It was nice to know your principal could kick an alien’s butt and still give you detention. Somehow.

He’d been to Coulson’s actual office aboard the Helicarrier exactly once; he ended up taking several wrong turns and managed to find a back way to the commissary. He found the right way, and the bank of offices narrowed into a small one crammed in the absolute back corner of the carrier, tucked between boiler rooms.

Man, Coulson really did take all the crap jobs, Peter mused.

He hesitated at the door, but then he raised his hand and knocked.

“Yes?”

“Um…it’s Peter,” he said. “Can I come in?”

There was a shuffling noise, and the door creaked open. Phil stuck his head out, and Peter could see his handler was really out of it. Dark circles under Phil’s eyes made him seem years older. He didn’t look at all like the put-together guy Peter remembered. Stubble coated his face and he looked weary.

“Make it quick, Parker,” Phil said, ushering him inside.

Peter realized then that this wasn’t Phil’s office. It was…his room. This little hole in the wall was what Phil came home to every day after school and the cot on the wall, held stable with chains bolted to the wall was where he slept. It was probably about the size of a prison cell, and the door sealed with a pneumatic lock.

Peter felt bad. Incredibly bad. He shuffled past what looked like last night’s Chinese and set a stack of Louis L’amour onto a side table, clearing a space on a chair so he could perch.

Phil waited patiently, sitting back down on his cot. He pulled his quilt around his shoulders, and Peter tugged his mask off. Phil wore a pair of sweats with the SHIELD logo. Peter suspected he’d been sleeping.

He took a breath.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he said, feeling awkward. “I mean, we all saw what happened. We were all really worried about you.”

Phil took a breath, a small smile curling his lips.

“You’re a good kid.” Phil had never really praised him. His criticism was constructive, but their relationship had been on the frosty side since Aunt May. While it hadn’t worked out (she’d been too busy and he’d been too secret agenty), Peter still…he wanted the guy to like him. In a way.

This was huge.

“Does this mean we’re having a breakthrough? Did I win you over with my heartwarming antics and witty commentary?” he asked, his eyes sparkling a bit. Phil snorted.

“Hardly.” Phil rubbed at his chin. “I wanted to thank you, though. For worrying about me. It’s not easy to do, I’m sure.”

“Eh, I wanted to make sure you weren’t going on anymore secret missions for a while. That stretch of time you were gone was crazy.” Peter mock shuddered. “Sam cried.”

Phil nodded. “I just needed a break.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I didn’t really wanna bug you. But you know, arachnid.”

He smiled, and leaned back against the wall. “You know all about the great responsibility spiel. I don’t have to tell you that some consequences weigh heavy on the mind.”

“Sure they do,” Peter said, shrugging. “But that’s why we’re doing what we do, right? To keep people safe and use that responsibly.”

Phil mused on that for a minute. Peter watched him, not sure how to feel about this side of Coulson.

“You sure you’re really okay?” Peter asked, ruffling his own hair.

“Mostly,” Phil said. “I did something I find morally reprehensible, so I’m wallowing.”

“You? Morally reprehensible? Naaaaah,” Peter said. “You’re, like, mister morality. If you trim any more of the school’s meat out of the meatloaf, though, I might write a stern letter.”

Phil’s lips quirked.

“Seriously, Coulson. You’re a good guy. Whatever you did can’t have been that bad. What happened?”

“Oh, it’s…” Phil hesitated, his eyes flickering over Peter’s face, and he knew the agent was judging how much to tell him. “Did you ever have someone you really respected, and then something happened, and you lost that respect?”

“Me? The king of teenage angst?” Peter sobered. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“What did you end up doing, if you don’t mind me asking?” Phil seemed intent and curious.

“I ran away,” Peter said, his hands tightening on his knees. His vision blurred, and he blinked hard to bring it back into focus. “I didn’t get a chance to…”

“Ah.”

Phil reached out, and Peter didn’t shy from the touch like he normally would, the hand on his shoulder a welcome weight as he bowed his head for a minute. Phil squeezed gently, and Peter took a deep breath.

“What I’m sayin’ is, nothing’s too bad for you to not at least try to apologize. If they’re worthy of your respect, they’ll accept it. If not…maybe they should work harder to earn your respect back.” Peter gave Phil a wan smile, suddenly feeling more worn out than when he started. He wasn’t the one supposed to give advice, after all – that was Phil’s job, even if he was sometimes crap at it.

“Thank you, Peter,” Phil said. “Your intervention wasn’t expected, but maybe it was more welcome than I thought it was.”

“So I helped?” Peter asked.

“We’ll see,” Phil replied. “I’ve still got a couple more days of leave since the incident. Tell the others I should be back next Monday, and that they should all follow along with Anna’s instructions.”

“Got it,” Peter said, shooting him a jaunty salute. “So we don’t have to break down your door with soup and crackers.”

“I’d probably pin you to the wall with a hole punch,” Phil drawled.

Peter laughed a little, until he realized Phil was half-serious.

“So…should I go?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Phil said, stifling a yawn. “I think that’s best. Thank you, Peter.”

“You keep using my name like that, I’m gonna think we’re friends,” Peter said, standing to go. Phil didn’t reply. When the teen turned around, the agent was already asleep, curled under his quilt and breathing softly. Peter let himself out, feeling a little lighter in the chest.

* * *

Steve pummeled the punching bag, though he didn’t hit it as hard as he had the last few times. He was finally slowing down, his breathing ragged. Phil hadn’t been at the high school. Anna, his protégé, had said he was out on sick leave.

Steve had the feeling he was being avoided.

He didn’t like that feeling much, and he pounded a vicious left hook into the sand bag, sending the chain snapping and leaving it on the floor, the filling pouring onto the floor. He reached for another, hanging it and setting to work.

“Why do I feel like all of those have my face on it?” came a voice. Steve whipped around, and caught sight of Phil, haggard and tired looking. Phil gave a wan smile, and Steve’s gut churned.

In reality, Phil looked like Steve felt, stretched too thin and wound too tight. Steve opened his mouth, hesitated, his anger boiling up, and then turned to hit the bag, sending it rattling on its chain.

“I don’t expect anything out of you,” Steve gritted, his knuckles split and healing several times already. “I did what I promised, which was help. That’s done. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you an explanation, and an apology.” Phil shifted closer, but he kept his distance, as though afraid Steve would turn on him next.

“No, you really don’t,” Steve said. “I get I was just a joke. Something you put down on paper before you found me. Before you even expected I’d be located.”

“I had just turned thirty,” Phil said. “You know what my life expectancy was working for SHIELD? Twenty-six. We lost a lot of them young. I was allowed a little black humor now and then, though I admit that it was inappropriate. I never expected Fury to call you in.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Steve said, a right cross opening the first two knuckles of his hand. “Are we done here? Kinda busy.”

“I…of course, Captain,” Phil said, his back straightening. Steve knew what he felt like now, and that was an image he’d never get out of his head. He glared at the bag, avoiding the way Phil’s face closed down. “I apologize for the discomfort and distress I’ve caused you. I won’t waste your time again.”

Phil walked away, and Steve went through six more bags before he’d calmed down enough to wrap his hands.

* * *

Phil rubbed his hands over his face, smoothing his tie before he went to his meeting with Fury. This week was going to be the pits, and it was only Sunday evening. He closed the door behind him as Nick looked up.

“I got your change form,” Nick said, holding up the corrected and completed designated partner list. “Marla from accounting?”

“She’s a nice enough woman, and we came to a mutually beneficial agreement,” Phil said, taking a seat. “It’s better than you calling Captain America in on an 89-56 again.”

“I never thought I’d have to, until you took a shot to the face for Alexander,” Nick said, and Phil nodded, looking at his clasped hands. “I take it the apology didn’t go well?”

“Went over like a lead balloon,” Phil sighed. “He’s angry, and hurting. I didn’t even get out what I wanted to say.”

“Like ‘I’m sorry I bolted like it was a one-night stand and I had to chew my arm off to keep from waking you’?” Nick asked, raising a brow.

“Christ, when you say it like that…” Phil said, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw spots. “I’m never going to be able to work with the Avengers again, am I?”

Nick shook his head. Phil winced.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said.

“So am I,” Nick said. “But I didn’t see any other real way to resolve it.”

“You did what you thought was best, I can appreciate that,” Phil said. “It was my reaction that was inappropriate.”

“Mm,” Nick said. “Well, I’ll hold onto this until you’re sure he doesn’t want to talk to you. Give him a couple days to cool off. Meanwhile, return to your assigned duties. Parker has been bugging the shit out of me, and I’m about to pull out my hair.”

“You shave your head,” Phil reminded him.

Nick conceded with a shrug.

“It’ll be good to get back to work,” Phil said, nodding. “At least that can’t go too wrong.”

* * *

“I knew I jinxed myself,” Phil said, crouched in the corridor, his glock out. Asgard had invaded, and not in the fun way. Thor and the Warriors Three were doing battle in the lunch room, Sif was hunting through the halls, and Enchantress was around here somewhere.

The rookies were supporting Thor, and Phil had sent out the distress signal. The Avengers would be here soon.

He was not looking forward to that conversation.

A roar caught his attention, and Sif slammed into a bank of lockers in front of him, sending papers scattering to the wind. Phil ran to assist, holstering his gun as he reached her.

“Sif!” Phil called, helping her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

“Many thanks, Son of Coul. I am well.” Sif looked down at her dented breastplate. “These beasts are formidable.”

“The Avengers should be here soon.” Phil adjusted his tie, glancing down the hallway.

“Ah, excellent,” she said, her eyes glinting green. Phil slumped, then straightened. His shoulders went taut, and Amora smiled. “Then we will be there to greet them, shan’t we?”

Phil nodded, his hand going to his holster.

“Ah, ah, softly, pet,” Amora cooed. “Lure them in. Let them think you their ally. Then strike.”

“Of course, Mistress,” Phil said, swallowing. “Should I intercept them?”

“Yes,” she purred, cupping his face. “Skurge faces Sif, and Thor and his allies battle my army. You shall be the herald for me. The Odinson will behave, one way or another. Whether by his own will or to spare you pain.”

Phil nodded again, turning for the front of the school.

“Oh, and Son of Coul?”

“Mistress?”

“Do make sure they’re silenced permanently?”

“Of course, Mistress.” Phil moved silently down the hall, like a cat.

Amora smiled. Just the thing to keep them busy.

* * *

Steve arrived at the high school first, his bike giving a roar as he shoved it up the crumbling ruin that had once been the stairs. He parked it on the front lawn, locking it down as he looked around. The building was smoking. He could see holes in the bricks, and could hear the crack of lightning and the shout of battle.

He turned for the doors and found Phil waiting for him.

“Come on,” Phil said, making a gesture. “We should hurry.”

Steve clamped his lips over the snide retort, the wounds still fresh.

“Why is it always your high school?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Because it’s convenient to find me,” Phil replied. “You did.”

Steve grit his teeth. “What are we up against?”

“Amora,” Phil said, his voice bland. Steve cut his eyes to Phil, his hackles up. Something was wrong.

“Coulson, are you all right?”

“Fine, Captain.” Phil said. Steve watched him carefully, but he didn’t know Phil well enough to be able to read what tells he might broadcast. “The fight’s just this way.”

Steve preceded Phil around the corner, something still not right about this. Where was Sif? Phil had said something about her meeting them as well.

“Through there,” Phil said. Steve looked down the hall, sparking fluorescent lights making it hard to see. A pall of smoke obscured vision further.

“Stay here,” Steve murmured to him. His instincts were screaming, and he didn’t think it was the hallway. He turned, and caught Phil taking aim with his glock. He ducked, and the report of the gun echoed through the hallway, even as Steve drove his shoulder into Phil’s gut, propelling them both into the back of lockers at the end of the hall.

“Phil, what the hell?” Steve said, grunting as he wrestled the gun from Phil’s grasp.

“Steve!” came the shout from the other end of the hall, and Natasha slid to a stop to help. Phil struck like a snake, his head snapping forward and connecting with Steve’s nose.

“What’s going on?” Natasha said, her voice tight.

“It’s Phil…something’s wrong.” Steve handed her the Glock and she tossed it away, holding Phil in a bear hug while she divested him of his weapons. Natasha clicked a pair of handcuffs onto Phil’s wrists.

“Obviously, if he was taking a shot at you,” she said. Steve’s nose was running freely, and he swiped at the stream of blood. “He’d never do that, ever.”

“Even after…”

“Yes, even after that. He respects you way too much.” Natasha gave him a look. “Go ahead and find Thor. Lead Tony and Clint in, and Sam will support from the air. Thor’s got the kids in there, so having more adults to coordinate would be a blessing.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Lock him in his office,” she said. “Until we get the place locked down.”

Steve unshouldered his shield, leaving Phil in Natasha’s capable hands.

* * *

The portal in the basement was finally shut, and Steve slid the shield back into its harness, breathing heavily. Spider-man’s costume was shredded, and he pulled a spare mask from his backpack, tugging it on. All of them were exhausted, and he turned to Natasha, who was setting handcuffs on Skurge while Mjolnir held him down.

“Everyone accounted for?” he asked. There was a chorus of tired “ayes” from the surrounding heroes. “Good work, everyone. We’ll get SHIELD to cordon off the school, and do repairs, as well as sweep for anything else.”

Spider-Man and Nova slumped onto some rubble, and Fandral began to hand out water.

“We’ll arrange for transport home for the Asgardians, if you need.” Steve accepted the bottled water with a thank you. Scavenged from the cafeteria, but all of it would need to be replaced at the rate they’d gone.

“Heimdall shall provide,” Thor rumbled. “But where is the Son of Coul?”

Steve turned to Natasha.

“He’s in his office. Something Amora did made him…change,” Natasha said. She cut a cold look at the Sorceress in the corner, sitting under Sif’s watchful boot, the gag keeping her silent. “He’s not acting like himself.”

Thor looked troubled. “I know little of sorcery, that was always Mother and Loki’s…forte.”

He paused, a flash of pain crossing his face. Steve shifted his glance to Amora, who shot him a satisfied look. What had she been told?

“I will see to his aid,” Thor declared. “I will see whether or not we may break this foul enchantment ourselves.”

“We’re going to return to Asgard,” Volstagg said, lifting Skurge and tossing him over his shoulder. “We’ve much to report to Odin.”

“Verily,” Thor said, nodding. “Pray, send Heimdall after you have arrived if I cannot break this enchantment. Perhaps he might see where I do not.”

“We shall ask him,” Sif said, nodding as she hauled Amora up by her hair. “Hopefully the Son of Coul will be well soon.”

* * *

Phil struggled against the handcuffs, not bothering to hide his movements as Natasha stilled his hands. Steve knelt next to her, as did Thor. Phil looked up, and Steve could see his eyes better in the light now. His pupils were blown wide, and his eyes were glassy.

“Son of Coul,” Thor said, tilting Phil’s head this way and that with a large hand. “What has the Enchantress done to you?”

“Nothing I didn’t want to happen, in hindsight,” Phil replied. “It’s easier this way.”

“What is?” Thor asked.

“Being here. Like this. Better than I was.”

“How were you before?” Natasha asked.

“Hurting.” Steve winced, and Phil turned to look at him. “Not your fault. I know what it’s like to not really be wanted.”

“She’s found a crack in his mental armor,” Natasha murmured. Phil watched them all, his face expressionless. “How are you now?”

“Content,” Phil said. “The mistress has washed away the confusion. The doubt. The guilt. It’s…enough to serve. I don’t hurt and I don’t hurt others.”

“You tried to shoot Steve in the head.” Natasha frowned.

“Did I?” Phil looked confused. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Phillip,” Thor said, his brows drawing down. “You know that it is but illusion.”

“I know,” Phil admitted, his face serene. “But it’s nicer than the reality.”

“We cannot leave you like this, my friend.” Thor reached for Mjolnir.

“I know. But I wish you would.” Phil’s voice was a little wistful, but he watched Thor raise his hammer.

“What are you going to do?” Steve asked. His fingers tightened into fists without him realizing it.

“Mjolnir has other properties than calling the storm, my friend,” Thor said. “I can break this enchantment.”

Thor passed Mjolnir over Phil’s head, then his heart. The hammer vibrated, giving off a clear tone, and Phil went very still. He closed his eyes, then opened them.

“Why am I handcuffed to my radiator? Again?” he asked.

Natasha smiled, and Phil groaned. Steve merely rose and went to see the kids back home.

* * *

“You should talk,” Sam said, plopping onto the edge of the roof with the bag of food.

Steve accepted his part of the chow gratefully. They’d been on patrol for a few hours, and a snack break was just the thing. It was coincidence they were overlooking the ruin of the school, currently undergoing repairs by the city. Phil had moved all the kids to a neighboring building, and classes were being taught in rotation.

Phil, in all honesty, looked exhausted.

Not that Steve had been watching. He’d been patrolling. For safety’s sake.

Steve shrugged a shoulder in a non-committal gesture. “He’s got a lot on his plate. He doesn’t need me adding to it.”

“That is a crap excuse, Steve.” Sam took a bite of his burger. “And you definitely know it.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” Steve shoved a handful of fries in his mouth. “But I can’t do it, Sam. I went in that room knowing this might happen. So I shouldn’t be surprised when it did.”

Sam nodded, chewing in silence for a moment, deep in thought.

“You’ve got to be a hard dude to get over,” he said, glancing at Steve. “I mean, hell, look at all the fan mail you get.”

Steve flushed from the tips of his ears to his neck, and he was thankful for the cowl. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Well, think about it. This guy wakes up after being the sickest he’s ever been, after telling Fury not to call you, and sees that you helped him out. Not only that, but he sees the way you smile when you talk about him. But he also thinks you were just doing him a solid. So he does the sensible thing and doesn’t put the onus on you to force contact. He lets you have the space you might need. Hell, he might need the space too.” Sam swirled his milkshake in the cup, as if this was something he encountered all the time. “Gotta be hard on the guy. It’d be hard on me, too. But he comes to work and he does his job. And from what Spider-Man and the rookies were telling me, they love him.”

Steve was silent for a long moment, soaking that in.

“Did you even tell him how you felt about it before you ran him out of the gym?” Sam asked. Steve’s shoulders rounded, and he looked down at his burger. “I think that might be a good place to start.”

Steve nodded, chewing. “I’ll…I’ll think about it.”

“I know you’ll do what you think is right.” Sam nudged him, and Steve nodded again.

* * *

Phil blinked at the knock on his door. His cramped bunk space was even more cramped once he’d spent more time there, but he ignored the slowly settling claustrophobia, instead rising to answer the door. He hadn’t shaved in a while, his stubble grown into the semblance of a beard, though he hadn’t bothered to trim it.

When he pulled open the door, he stared up at Steve like he was a ghost.

“Hi,” Steve said, his voice quiet. “Can I come in?”

Phil considered a moment, then opened the door wider. Steve had to duck his head to come in, and he pushed his cowl back as he did. Phil couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated, and he turned toward the mess that had been building up.

“Can I help you, Captain?” he asked. He realized what his quarters must look like. He hadn’t tidied up in a while; and there might be empty takeout boxes on the table next to the bed.

“I swung by to check on how you were doing. I’d have changed out of the uniform but apparently street clothes are frowned on here,” Steve said, ruffling his own hair. “I know the incident with Enchantress must have been hard.”

“I’m okay,” Phil said, turning to collect and shove various boxes of leftovers into the incinerator chute by the door. “It’s not your problem.”

“It kind of is,” Steve said, carefully lifting boxes and handing them to Phil. The agent considered them for a moment, then took them, shoving them into the chute. “Mostly because I maybe started something.”

“Maybe, he says,” Phil snorted under his breath. He turned to Steve. “I tried to apologize. That didn’t work, so I stayed out of your hair. Are you looking for that? Because I can apologize. Again.”

“I don’t want you to apologize,” Steve said, and Phil huffed.

“Then what _do_ you want?” he asked.

“Maybe ten minutes of your time?” Steve asked. “After that, you can tell me to get out.”

Phil looked like all the steam had been poured out of him. He swallowed, then moved to his bunk, sitting down on it and offering Steve the only chair. Phil tucked his knees to his chest, his socked feet curled over one another.

“Okay,” he said. “Ten minutes.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, then sat down.

“First of all, I’m sorry,” Steve said. Phil looked surprised. “I was hurt, and angry, when you came to see me in the gym.”

“Understandable,” Phil murmured.

“I also didn’t really think that…me being your Preferred Partner should be a joke,” he said softly. “I went in there because I wanted to, Phil.”

Phil watched him, wary, and Steve clasped his hands between his knees.

“I went in there, almost agreed too fast, because I wanted to be the one to…” He ducked his head, shame welling up. “I wanted to do it.”

Phil swallowed.

“You smelled…” Steve hesitated. “You smelled like I did right after the transformation. A lot of people don’t know that enhanced senses means more than just hearing and sight. I knew how it felt, honestly. When I was getting used to the serum…I had an eight month period where every day was like that.”

Phil nodded, listening.

“And you…you called me Steve,” he said. “I wanted that. I wanted that part of the equation so bad. I thought we could talk when we woke up, you’d been so sick, but your temperature went down every time we…”

His ears went red. He forced his gaze to Phil, who was watching him, wary.

“How much do you remember?” Steve asked.

“Very little,” Phil admitted. “I was feverish. Delirious. The time period from when I imposed quarantine to the time I woke up is hazy.”

“You kept apologizing,” Steve said. “Like you were making me do this. And I kept telling you I wanted to. I meant that.”

He hesitated, meeting Phil’s eyes.

“I still do.” Phil rubbed at his face and Steve sat back, unsure as to what to do now. “I just…wish I could start over. With me asking you to dinner. I’d been thinking about it for a while.”

Phil was silent for a long moment. Steve resisted the urge to fidget, letting him have his space.

“I was sixteen years old when I realized instead of wanting to be you, I wanted to be with you.” Phil began. Steve leaned his elbows on his knees, listening intently. “It became a running joke in my squad. ‘Cheese has a crush on Cap’. I never confirmed or denied it. I don’t think it really mattered whether I did or not.”

Steve watched him, and Phil seemed lost in thought, a million miles away.

“I realized, sometime when we found you, that I’d been disrespectful. I’d fallen in love with an idea. I’d even filled out the form with your name as a joke, because I’d never had anyone else. Not in the long run.” Phil swallowed. “I was ashamed. I was going to change it, but it slipped my mind with everything else happening. When I was called away from your rescue, I was sent to rescue Stark from palladium poisoning. I went from that to where I was investigating Mjolnir dropping in New Mexico. I was on the road for sixteen months without a break and no time for anything but the absolute most critical paperwork. By the time I had a break, I was at the facility where Loki attacked.”

Phil rubbed his chest through his tee. Steve winced.

“So…I’m sorry. I got to know you, and it never occurred to me that this would happen. You called me Phil, you treated the kids right, even when I was overexcited, because really, I do admire you a lot—“

He flushed. Steve smiled, something fond.

“What I mean to say is, I like you a lot. I’d like to…maybe give this another shot. The only reason I walked away was because I thought Fury had mandated you the job. I even issued a form change.”

Steve shook his head almost a little too violently. “I’d have never walked in there without my full consent. Please don’t…don’t change the form.”

Phil nodded. “I’m sorry. You should have found out…some other way.”

“Can I just be glad I did?” Steve asked. “Because I’d really like to see you again. And I’d really like to spend time with you when you’re not delirious. As nice as the feeling was when you kissed me.”

Phil pinked, and Steve grinned. He moved from the chair, and sat down next to Phil. Gently, he wrapped an arm around Phil, and nosed against his temple.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said again.

“Don’t be,” Steve said. “I didn’t do anything I regretted. Remember? You woke up with me wrapped up in you.”

Phil nodded. “That part was nice, once the fever had broken. I didn’t expect you to be that warm.”

“Well, you have plenty of time to find that stuff out,” Steve said, as Phil relaxed a little more, dropping his feet to the floor and uncurling a bit.

“Yeah, I suppose I do,” Phil admitted, turning his head toward Steve. Their lips brushed, and Phil smiled, doing it again. “Though that’s nice.”

“Infinitely nicer when you’re coherent,” Steve agreed. “Dinner tonight?”

“I’d like that,” Phil said. “I’ve got to clean up here.”

“Let me help?” Steve offered.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

* * *

Principal Coulson was  _whistling_ . 

It was unsettling. Peter watched him pass by. He looked a lot better since the whole 89-56 incident. His gaze shot to Ava across the hall, and she nodded.

“You’re looking a lot better, sir,” she called out. Phil smiled, something genuine, and the bags under his eyes had all but disappeared.

“Feel a lot better,” he said. “I think I worked the bug out of my system.”

“Good to hear.” Peter leaned against his locker as everyone was getting ready to leave for the day. “Does that mean I get out of detention for the day?”

“Not a chance,” Coulson said. “The usual room, Mister Parker, march.”

“Awww,” Peter groaned. Phil turned to walk the other way, which made him perk. “Wait, where are you going?”

“You’ll be taking detention with Assistant Principal Marks today,” Phil said. “I have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” Peter wondered, as Ava fell into step beside him. Sam and Danny weren’t far behind, catching up. “Since when are meetings more important than detention?”

“Since Coulson has a date,” Danny said. Ava nodded.

“Wait, what?” Peter felt his brain skid to a stop. “With who, Aunt May didn’t—“

“No, not Aunt May,” Ava said. “Jeez, Parker, you never read the manual, do you?”

“No. We’ve been over this,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then who?”

“Cap,” said Sam, sounding smug. “I saw him pull up on his bike when I was down the hall.”

“ _What._ ”

Ava pinched her nose between thumb and forefinger. “You really are dense. I didn’t know what the term 89-56 meant either, so I went to the manual and looked it up. That’s the standard call code for an agent affected by hallucinogens.”

“So? Doesn’t explain the date,” Peter said, trying and failing to put two and two together. It still looked like three to him.

“Of course it does,” Ava said, sounding exasperated. “Coulson called in an 89-56. The last two digits of that code meant he was being affected by pheromones. Probably from that wasp nest Sam tried to blow up.”

Sam suddenly seemed less smug.

“So pheromones,” Luke said. “What kind of pheromones?”

“Basically accelerated puberty without the gross body hair and need to make fart noises with their armpits,” Ava said, rolling her eyes at Peter.

“Hey.”

“Anyway. Standard procedure is to contact the agent’s Preferred Partner, who can help them work the poison out of their system,” Ava said. She waited for the light to dawn in Peter’s eyes.

Peter’s needle instead scratched off the record. Coulson and…Cap?

“ _Ewwwww_ ,” he said, making a face. “You’re not allowed to give me that mental picture ever again. I need brain bleach. I see enough of Coulson in his tighty-whities thanks to villains like Chemistro.”

Anna gave them a wave down the hall, and they hurried on to their detention.

* * *

Phil tossed his leg over Steve’s bike, settling the helmet on his thigh for now.

“You sure this is all right?” Steve asked. “I mean, we should keep up appearances in front of the kids.”

“Kids have a way of working these things out,” Phil said, settling the helmet on his head. “Besides, I don’t foresee any problems from the rookies. Parents on the other hand, are less understanding. So when someone asks, I’m just catching a ride until Lola’s brakes are fixed.”

“Got it,” Steve said. “I’ll wait until we’re home before I kiss you silly.”

Phil tightened his arms around Steve’s middle, smiling behind the visor as they took off, his head tucked against Steve’s back.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a paired fic. The alternate is being done by Justicemuffins, and should be up some time this week. 
> 
> Edit: here it is! [What if we ruin it all and love like fools?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3637356) by Justicemuffins
> 
> It started in Skype.
> 
> "Let's write sex pollen," we said. "It'll be fun," we said.
> 
> 8600 words later and I don't even know what happened. This was supposed to be funny, dammit.


End file.
